No It Isn't, It's Just Smaller On The Outside
by rattyjol
Summary: Various Doctor Who/Torchwood drabbles & oneshots. Spoilers & ratings are at the head of each chapter.
1. Am I The Hero Now?

**A/N - ****This is an ongoing collection of Doctor Who/Torchwood drabbles and oneshots. They're in no particular order and have no connection to each other. Ratings will be at the top of each chapter but shouldn't go above T, possibly an occasional Torchwood M.**

**End of Time spoilers, Master POV, PG/K+ I guess?**

* * *

You could have killed me. You could have, but you didn't. You had the gun. Rassilon had his glove. I had the weapons I had been reborn with. But all you had to do was twitch your finger. You could have done it. You could have ended the drumming once and for all. Those never-ending drum beats. You could have stopped them.

And Gallifrey knows I've done some horrible things to you. We used to be friends. So long ago. And now . . . look at us. Sworn enemies. Polar opposites. You have every reason to hate me.

But you can't. Because that's not who you are.

The sainted Doctor. You don't take lives; you only exploit people into doing it to themselves. Then you run, convince yourself it wasn't your fault because you wouldn't be able to live with yourself otherwise. You don't carry weapons. Never hating, searching for the good in people.

I hated you, though. I swear, I did. I hated you for coming away from the Untempered Schism whole while I was broken. I hated you for being the hero of the universe, over and over and over again, while I was the scourge of it.

Things could have been so different, you know. Rassilon could have picked you . . . Could have sent the signal back to you. Who knows how things might have turned out then? Would I, the Master, have become the hero, while you, the Doctor, became the scourge, making the link and bringing Gallifrey back? Would I have had the courage to use the Moment, to destroy Time Lords and Daleks alike? Or would you have fought the drumbeat, remained sane, so that we could grow up and die in the Time War together?

I hated you. Why didn't you hate me?

But you had the gun. You had every reason to kill me. All you had to do was twitch your finger.

"Get out of the way."

Those five words. Those five words took me back, to a time when we were the best of friends. Those five words were all it took . . . to make me realize that I never really hated you, after all.

So, for once, I listened. I moved. And the link was broken.

And then you were going to die.

"I know."

And then you said that, and the drums stopped. They stopped, and it hurt, and I hated Rassilon for what he had done to me.

"Get out of the way."

I echoed your words, holding out my hands, and thank Gallifrey you understood. I don't know if I would have had the courage to kill you then. But you moved, and then I had a clear shot at Rassilon.

I'm sorry, Doctor. I did something that you would never approve of. But I've done a lot of things like that over the years, haven't I? All those long, long years, fighting each other. Polar opposites. The hero and the scourge.

But now, am I the hero? I sent Gallifrey back. I sacrificed myself so that you didn't have to die with them. You wanted to die, though. You would rather die then regenerate, then, I could see it in your eyes. But I wanted to die too. Without that noise . . . I don't think I could have lived without that noise.

And you are so great. You've stopped me, and you've stopped the Daleks, and the Sontarans, and the Cybermen, and everything else that's ever threatened the Earth, over and over and over again. You deserve a second chance, Doctor, a chance to keep doing what you do best.

Because even though we have different ways of going about it, Doctor, and different reasons, and different feelings about it, when it comes right back to it, we're both murderers. Plain and simple. We've both killed so, so, so many people.

But you do it to save lives. And I did it because I liked it.

So live, Doctor. Keep going. Keep being the hero.

I can't be the scourge anymore. Not without the drums. Because they made me who I am, Doctor, but not as much as you did. Without the drums, there would be no me. Without me, there would be no you.

And without you, I wouldn't be here.


	2. Blade

**Summary because my 100-word drabbles are confusing: When he isn't drinking or shooting at aliens, Owen fences.**

**No spoilers, PG/K+.**

* * *

Parry, circle, damn it, parried. Retreat. Beat, lunge. Red flash. Bout.

He steps back, removes his mask, shakes hands. Hangs up his gear and balances his foil in his palms. Runs a finger over the dented guard.

Tugs at the white jacket, warmer and a tighter fit than the one he wears to work each day. Shifts his weapon and watches fluorescents flash on the blade. A shorter reach than the gun he carries sometimes and a duller edge than the scalpel he uses at others.

But it's when his fingers are curled neatly around the pistol grip hilt that he becomes truly dangerous.


	3. Dance

**Spoilers for the end of NewWho season 1. Written for the prompt "Doctor Who, Doctor/Rose (9 or 10), One last beautiful dance" on LJ. Rated G/K.**

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Somewhere deep within the recesses of his own mind, far away from the pain of the regeneration and the knowledge that his body is no longer quite his own, the Doctor dreams.

He doesn't dream often – he doesn't sleep often either, but that's beside the point – and this time he's still in his last regeneration, the one that's just now been replaced with a tall, skinny stranger that he hasn't had time to take a proper look at yet.

And Rose is there too – just Rose, no Jack and no Mickey and no domestics or Daleks or danger or anything else beginning with a 'D' except for Doctor – in the TARDIS, and there's music playing, nice music, soft to the ears and a good beat.

And he takes one of her hands and she wraps her free arm around his back and they dance, poised in that not-quite-awkward and yet still not-quite-intimate position and he wants nothing more than to close the gap between them as they share a final dance before this Doctor is gone forever.


	4. Whispers

**Spoilers for Torchwood 2x06/2x07. Written for the tw_100 prompt "in the walls" on LJ. PG-13/T for mildly depressing creepiness. In case it's not clear, this is Owen.**

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He hears them.

In the shadows and in the walls and in the dark, dark alleys where blood has been spilt, he hears their voices. They whisper to him, in the hub and in his empty flat and when he's taking the long route home because he doesn't want to get there. Hollow, empty voices echoing backwards and forwards through to time to converge on him, the living dead.

He speaks to them during the long, lonely nights, but they only sigh and murmur nonsense.

Sometimes he thinks they'll drive him mad, the dead. Sometimes he thinks they already have.


	5. Obstreperous

**Here's some silliness to break up the angst. Written for the dw_100 prompt "obstreperous" but I never actually got round to posting it there because I don't like it much. Doctor is Eleven, "she" is probably Amy but could really be anyone. Actually she sounds more like River BUT. No spoilers, rated G/K.**

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Even as a child, he was loud.

He had been called noisy, a chatterbox, a big mouth, a prattler, a windbag, a nuisance, a genius, an idiot, a hero, a coward, a motor mouth and everything in between, but in all his life, the Doctor had never, not once, ever heard anyone call him _that_.

"Obstreperous?" he repeated, frowning in bewilderment. "Am I really?"

She laughed. "You really must look in the mirror more often, Doctor. And lose the bowtie while you're at it, will you?"

He scowled and straightened the accessory in question. "Bowties are _cool_."

She grinned. "Right."


	6. On Leave

**Jack . . . before he was Jack. Yey! PG-13/T for language and innuendos. It's _Jack_. No spoilers except if you didn't know that he was a Time Agent.**

* * *

He was on leave.

His first break in three months, and he was spending it _here_?

He slammed his glass down on the countertop and watched as the blue-skinned bartender refilled it. Normally this would be the point where he made a few passing remarks, got her attention, worked a few innuendos into otherwise perfectly innocent flirting and woke up next morning naked and handcuffed to a bedpost.

But, surprisingly, she wasn't quite up to his standards. He was surprised too – he hadn't even known that he _had_ standards.

He looked around at the dingy, dirty little bar that somehow managed to cling to business in this remote corner of the galaxy. He wasn't sure how he'd ended up there; he remembered wondering where, exactly, he was supposed to go when he was on leave – his mother had passed away a year ago in his personal timeline, the rest of his family was long dead, and it wasn't like he had any kind of long-term relationship unless you considered his thing with John, and he didn't – and then saying to hell with knowing where you're going and setting the coordinates to several sex positions and the birthday of someone he couldn't quite recall. Next thing he knew he was holed up in the seediest bar in the entire fucking universe and couldn't even find a decent screw to tide him over until he was back at the Agency.

Several rounds later his irritation and general "fuck you all" attitude had darkened to plain old morbidness.

He'd always said that if he had to go down he'd like to go down in a blaze of glory . . . or a blaze of guns, at least; he'd never been big on glory. Or maybe a blaze of sex . . . yeah, that'd be nice . . . But not dying at all would be better.

He thought it would be fun to never die. Get shot or stabbed or sick and then just pop right back up and keep going like nothing happened at all. And aging, he'd have to do away with the aging. He'd never liked the thought of getting old, and the very last thing he wanted was to be stuck in some dingy little hospital on a deserted moon somewhere slowly dying of old age.

Immortality, then. Yeah.

He tipped his head back and had another drink.


	7. One Thousand Miles

**Written for the prompt "Doctor Who, Mickey/Rose, One thousand miles away / There's nothing left to say" on LJ. Mickey/Rose is one-sided, plus implied Ten/Rose. No spoilers I think? PG/K+.**

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He stands to one side, forgotten as the Time Lord and his companion nearly dance around the central TARDIS console, him with his incredibly fast tongue and pinstriped suits and her with her shining blonde hair and those gorgeous brown eyes. She laughs, that special laugh that used to be his and his alone but now seems to have been left in the care of this intruder, this alien being with far too much time on his hands.

Maybe all those movies and comic books and conspiracy theorists were right, he thinks, as he watches the girl he loves drift away from him and she doesn't even see. Maybe even the best aliens are out to get us.

He wonders what the Time Lord thinks of her, wonders what he feels for her. He wonders what she sees in him, to make her eyes light up like that and just gloss over her ex (are they exes now? There was never really a breakup, was there? Or was her running away with a strange man in a strange box her way of telling him to take a hint) like he's not even there.

And even though she's right there, nearly close enough that he could reach out and grab her hand, if he wanted to - and he does, but he's scared that she won't let him - she's also on the other side of the universe and nothing he can say or do will bring her back to him.


	8. Wolf

**Written for the dw_100 prompt "teeth". Spoilers for New Who Season 1 finale. PG/K+.**

* * *

"Rose, what are you—"

"Shh," she tells him, balancing the gun carefully atop the wall. "Concentrating."

"But I thought you hated—"

"I said shush," she cuts in, and he shuts his mouth, although somewhat reluctantly. She's probably one of the only people in the universe – in any universe – that can make the Doctor stop talking when he wants to talk.

"You're forgetting, Doctor," she says finally, disabling the safety and sighting along the long barrel. "I am Bad Wolf. And even the tamest wolf—" she glances at him and grins, showing off her pearly whites "—has teeth."

_Bang._


	9. Perfectly Ordinary

**Note that Keisha Jones _is_ a canon character - she was two years old at the start of the Year That Never Was and she's in her early-to-mid twenties in this story so that would put the setting at around 2025 or so. Minor spoilers for the end of End of Time and rated G/K.**

* * *

Keisha Jones was a perfectly ordinary young woman.

She had a perfectly ordinary flat on a perfectly ordinary street in a perfectly ordinary neighborhood in London that she shared with her perfectly ordinary boyfriend/sort-of-fiancée of three years. She held down a perfectly ordinary job as a perfectly ordinary nine-to-five office worker at a perfectly ordinary firm in central London.

But when she saw the box standing on the street corner, she knew her day was about to be not quite so perfectly ordinary after all.

She had been raised on stories of that box, and the man who traveled in it – for as long as she could remember, she had been entertained by stories of his exploits told by her father, and her grandparents, and her Aunt Tish, and most of all her Aunt Martha. In fact, nearly everyone on her father's side of the family seemed to have a story to tell about the mysterious Doctor, even her Uncle Mickey, and he wasn't even a Jones to begin with.

Every single one of them seemed convinced that the alien was real, and for a time, Keisha had believed them – but then she grew up, and though she couldn't deny the frequent extraterrestrial presence in London and Britain in general, she had a hard time believing that her aunt and uncle had not only met one but traveled with him as well.

But there was the box, just as Aunt Martha had always described it, and police boxes weren't exactly common in London these days, and well, it wasn't like she had anywhere to be at the moment, so she found a bench with a good view of the box in the park across the street and she waited.

It was perhaps half an hour later that they arrived: two men, and a woman with hair a startling shade of red. Neither of the men looked anything like the Doctor that her family had described – one had a thick mop of brown hair and a tweed jacket (and good God, who had given him that bowtie?) and the other had a rather pointed nose and was dressed in casual clothes that were long out of fashion but not nearly as eccentric. The Doctor that had been described to her in her youth was tall and skinny with gravity-defying hair and always, always wore a pinstriped suit and tie. But her Uncle Mickey had explained to her once about his ability to change his appearance to cheat death, and he _did_ seem to be trying to get into the police box. Another thing that had been drilled into her rather heavily by the Joneses as she grew was the fact that there was no such thing as coincidence.

She hurried across the street, darting through several lanes of traffic and earning more than one irritated beep of a horn on the way, and arrived at the blue police box just in time to hear the man in the tweed berating his male companion, "See, Rory, this is why I don't let you have a key to the TARDIS – oh, hello, do I know you?" He had turned to Keisha, giving her a curious look.

"No, probably not."

"Oh. Right, then. I'm the Doctor."

So the stories were true – Aunt Martha and Uncle Mickey really had been time travelers in their youth. "Keisha Jones."

"Jones, Jones . . . I know a lot of Joneses. You look rather familiar."

"Martha Jones is my aunt," Keisha suggested helpfully, and the Doctor clapped his hands once.

"Right, of course! Good old Martha Jones. How is she, I've been meaning to drop by and visit sometime. Tish or Leo?" he continued, barging right along without waiting for a response to his first query. That had been a trait of Aunt Martha's Doctor as well, she remembered.

"Sorry?"

"If Martha's your aunt then you're her niece, Tish or Leo?"

"Oh. Oh, right. Leo's my dad."

"Ah, is he now? Good for him."

"Doctor, I found it!" the one called Rory exclaimed suddenly, waving a key that he had just produced from his inside jacket pocket, and the woman snatched it away, inserting it hastily into the lock.

The Doctor nodded. "Right, got to dash. Big happenings on – er, well, quite a ways away, you know, nice little chat we've had, er, Kendra, no, what was it, Karla–"

"Keisha," she corrected, trying with little success not to be offended at his lack of memory. She had always been told that the Doctor was absolutely brilliant, if old – maybe the years were finally starting to catch up with him.

"Right, yeah. Well, Keisha, good luck with whatever it is you do, and try not to get eaten by any aliens, yeah?" He winked at her and ducked through the doorway after his friends, and Keisha managed to catch a glimpse of a space far too big for the small wooden box before the door slammed shut in her face. There was a whoop and a bang from inside and then, to her astonishment, it simply faded away, leaving her carefully arranged hair looking very windswept and messy but otherwise erasing any signs that it had been there at all.

He had been quite a bit ruder than she'd thought he would be, but that was to be expected; after all, he didn't know her and if she took everything her family had told her to heart she would think he was a saint.

So with a grin on her face, Keisha Jones continued down the street and returned to her no-longer-quite-so-ordinary life. At least now she had a story of her own to tell.


	10. Running

**This idea is probably way cliché, but. Spoilers for New Who Season 3 finale, PG-13/T for swearing and some non-graphic violence.**

* * *

He's good at hiding and he's good at running but he's not that good, and it's barely two months before they find him. He doesn't know what's happened to the others, to Gwen and Tosh and Owen, but he hopes they have better luck than he does.

When they capture him they do it quickly and cleanly and he wakes up in a cell. They feed him well and he eats better than he's eaten since . . . since, and they don't touch him, don't hit him or hurt him or bind him or even talk to him. After a week he's allowed to wash and given a clean suit, identical to one in his closet back home. Maybe it's the same one; it wouldn't surprise him.

He's led to another room, down long winding corridors of pipe and wire and if he had to guess he's probably on a ship of some kind, maybe even the Valiant. And when they arrive at the engine room he knows who's going to be there.

Harold Saxon, the fucking Prime Minister, and Ianto had _voted_ for him, talk about not fulfilling campaign promises, stands to one side and one glance at his face is enough to tell Ianto that this man is absolutely stark raving _bonkers_ and probably an alien and God why hadn't he seen it _before_ but that's just a side thought because all Ianto can see now is Jack.

Jack, Jack fucking Harkness with the coat and the smile and those goddamn eyes and a body that will never die. He died and then he came back and then he _left_ again and now here he is, beaten and bloody and chained to the wall because he's too dangerous to be left unbound.

Ianto is forced to his knees in front of him and now he realizes why he was treated so well, so he would be left looking perfect and beautiful and like the same Ianto that brought Jack his coffee every morning and shagged him every night and so that when Ianto dies Jack will _hurt_ because it was _hi__s_ Ianto that died and not the wild, feral Ianto that spent the last two months running and running and never stopping and oh God oh God he's going to die, he's going to die, for real this time, there won't be a last minute rescue from fucking Jack in a fucking tractor because Jack is chained to the wall by the fucking Prime Minister.

The cold barrel of a gun is pressed to his temple but it's just left there, and the seconds drag on but he doesn't know how many because he had to trade his stopwatch for a stale bread crust two weeks ago and it's all he can do not to scream for them to just get it over with already and then suddenly there's a hand on his head and it _twists_ and there's a sickening _crack_ from his neck and a loud _bang_ from above his left ear and he has a brief moment to wonder which one killed him first before—

"There's some traces of temporal activity over here," Tosh calls and Ianto kicks through a snow bank to peer over her shoulder through tinted goggles.

"Looks like about a mile and a half that way," he says, pointing upwards.

Owen's face is hidden behind several layers of thick cloth but Ianto can hear the familiar scowl in his voice as he grumbles something about the "fucking Himalayas" and Gwen claps a gloved hand on his shoulder and tells him to "stop being such a prick, Owen, how often do you get to climb Mount Everest" and they start hiking.

That night as they huddle together against the cold (but not like that because even if it is practically in the Torchwood Three job description to fuck one of your teammates that doesn't mean they all have to do it at once) Ianto looks up at the sky screened by clouds and wonders if Jack is up there somewhere, and he wonders if he misses him.


	11. All We Can Ask

**Honestly I think this is the first time I've ever written anything for CoE. Which is weird because usually I'm all over the angsty stuff. Hmm. Gwen POV, G/K, spoilers for Torchwood Season 3 (CoE).**

* * *

Sometimes it's hard to believe that everything could go to shit so completely in just five days. The Hub bombed, Ianto gone, Jack run off and probably never coming back. Just me left for Torchwood, then.

But, I suppose in the end, we did save the world, and I still have Rhys, and the little one, and don't I deserve some peace after three years? It's not perfect and God do I miss it, but I still have my world and my family and in the end, that's really all a Torchwood agent can ask for, isn't it?

Isn't it?


	12. Always

**Spoilers for Torchwood 2x07 but nothing you'd get if you haven't seen it. I made up the bit about Gallifreyans. Makes sense, though, yeah? If it's not clear it's about Death. Written for the tw_100 prompt "x factor" on LJ, G/K.**

* * *

So many times, he'd been released, and so many he times he had come close – _so close_ – to being free. But always, _always_, they stopped him.

Long ago, so long ago, the ancient Gallifreyans had trapped him, had found a way to harness his power and pass it down in their DNA, so each of them could literally _defeat death_ up to twelve times before finally succumbing to his powers.

Then they had fallen and he had been passed along, but always beaten, again and again.

And now the humans, for the second time, always finding a way.


	13. I Know

**Ianto and Jack discuss the events in Torchwood 1x04, "Cyberwoman". Well, when I say discuss . . . Rated PG/K+. I'm on a drabble roll tonight, aren't I? It went a bit over, 106, buuuut.**

* * *

"She was everything."

"I know."

"I don't know how to live without her."

"You'll learn."

"You killed her."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"You're right, I'm not."

"You're a monster, you know."

"You've mentioned that."

"I hate you."

"I know."

"She was why I signed up at Torchwood London in the first place."

"I read your files."

"Christ, Jack, she was the only reason I wanted a job here at all."

"So leave."

"How am I supposed to go back to a normal job after this?"

"I could retcon you."

"I don't want to be retconned."

"That's why I offered."

"I hate you."

"No you don't."


	14. Fear

**Spoilers for Children of Earth. PG/K+. It's about Lois in case it's not clear.**

* * *

At first she was frightened.

She was nervous and she was scared and the people in front of her were the most important people in the country and _what the hell was she doing_?

But she kept talking, and she saw the fear on their faces, some of the most powerful people in the world and they were scared of _her_, and she found confidence hidden somewhere deep inside her, and her voice came out tough and strong and powerful. Even the end, which wasn't the most forceful of endings, satisfied her as she sat down and saw their fear.

But once she was in her cell, with the door locked safely behind her, she realized that she didn't want this.

Christ, who did she think she was? Who cared if she might have just helped spare the lives of a good chunk of the world's population, she was going to spend the rest of her life rotting away in a cell somewhere and eating horrid prison food and dressed in an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit and there wasn't a goddamn thing she could do about it.

She had spent years visiting her father and she had sworn she would never, ever have to look out on anyone from the other side of the glass the way he had looked at her, longing for freedom and touch and air.

Probably she wouldn't even be allowed visitation rights. Probably she would be executed for treason. Oh God.

She spent hours formulating wild escape plans that could never work. And even if they did, where would she go? What could she possibly do?

But suddenly— no. She was free to go. No charges at all. She'd lost her job but nothing else. She thought about Gwen's offer but she couldn't. She just couldn't. It had been exhilarating and wild and amazing but she didn't want to be Torchwood. Once was enough.

She packed her things and was gone that night. She couldn't really afford to move but she didn't care, she didn't want to be in Britain anymore.

She decided on Canada. No particular reason, only that it was far away and she could just afford the ticket. So she went and that was that.


	15. Fire

**Minor spoilers for New Who 5x01, G/K. Prompt: "Childhood Memories: Doctor Who, Rory Williams, there wasn't a life before Amy Pond" on LJ.**

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Rory was a quiet boy. He was kind and shy and nervous and never raised his hand in class. But that was before he met the girl with the fiery hair and the attitude to match, with her fantasies of the magic Doctor and the box with the swimming pool inside. He was the only one she could bully into playing with her because all she wanted to play was the Raggedy Doctor with his flying box and Amelia Pond with the hair of fire and the fairytale name. And he complained sometimes, that the tie she made him wear was too tight around his neck and that she used up his whole blue marker coloring her cardboard box, but he never really minded at all because she made him play her hero, and even though he was only a stand-in it was good enough for him.


	16. Notice

**No spoilers, G/K.**

* * *

The worst thing about noticing everything was that once they were gone he started seeing little bits of them everywhere.

That girl had hair like Liz. That one talked like Sarah. This one had a jacket like Ace's. The girl over there pushed her tongue against her teeth when she laughed like Rose.

And it hurt, every time, no matter who it reminded him of: Susan or Jamie or Romana or Grace or Martha or Jack.

That was the worst thing. That was why he ran, away from the memories, but it never worked, and a Time Lord never forgets.


	17. Yellow

**For St. David's Day. Prompt is tw100 #188: Yellow on LJ. No spoilers, PG/K+.**

* * *

Ianto carefully smoothed down the bright petals and then stepped back to admire his handiwork.

"So how do I look?" Jack asked, glancing down at the pastel daffodil affixed to his coat.

Ianto smiled. "Very handsome, sir."

"You know, I dated St. David once. No alcohol, but he had some very creative ways to use a leek."

"I think you've dated everyone."

"Not just yet, but I'm getting there."

Ianto tucked a second flower into his own breast pocket before adjusting the matching tie just so. "Shall we go, then?"

Jack made a mock bow towards the ladder. "After you."


	18. Eternity

**Spoilers for Torchwood 2x03, PG/K+. Prompt: "Torchwood, Tommy/Tosh, eternity" on LJ.**

He doesn't know who she is but he can remember her.

The memories are just little flashes, there and gone, but they're enough.

Having a drink with her and watching a war on a little panel set high up in the wall, like a moving color photograph. A different war but wars are all the same.

Laughing with her by the sea, everything weird and futuristic but all he sees is her. Hair falling in her face and she brushes it away impatiently. Clothes too bright and too revealing to ever be appropriate but they suit her.

The feel of her skin on his and the sheets soft against his bare back. Softer than the army cots and softer than the hospital beds. Feeling safe with her in his arms even though dread threatens to break him and he doesn't remember why.

A complicated mechanism, cold and heavy in his hands and he can't remember how it got there but suddenly she's there and she tells him what to do. He doesn't know who she is but he knows he loves her.

There's an order he doesn't hear and flames exploding in rifle barrels and for once he doesn't flinch, but holds her in his mind as he falls into eternity.


	19. Splendid Is

**No spoilers, G/K. Prompt is dw100 #344: "splendid" on LJ.**

* * *

Splendid is a word he enjoys. It rolls off the tongue and puts a positive spin on everything, and if there's one thing he needs it's a little optimism.

Splendid is the beauty his companions see in everything. It's the way their eyes light up as they visit places they could never have dreamed of. It's the swaying mountains of Felspoon and the white hole in Althrace and the marketplaces of Hyspero.

Splendid is a word, but more than that it's a feeling, that little fragment of happiness he carries around in his hearts when he doesn't have anything else.


	20. Father for a Day

**Spoilers for New Who 4x06 "The Doctor's Daughter", PG/K+. Prompt: "Parents: Doctor Who, 10 and Jenny, Father for a day" on LJ.**

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* * *

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He'd only known her for a minute, but already he knew more about her than she did. He'd only known her for an hour, but already she had broken him out of jail. He'd only known her for two hours and already she'd adopted his moral views. He'd only known her for three hours and already she'd died for him.

He was only her father for a day, but it hurt just the same.


	21. Never Once

**No spoilers, G/K. Prompt: "Geeks: ****Torchwood, Toshiko, playing with computers as a child" on LJ.**

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She's six and allowed to play with her grandfather's new computer, just for a few minutes. But later that night she comes downstairs and turns it back on, hacking in and spending another hour exploring the technology before falling asleep with her cheek pressed to the keyboard.

She's eleven and they've just moved to Britain. (Her mother says "back" to Britain but she can't remember being born so it's just "there" to her.) Her father buys her a computer, brand new, and when she asks why he tells her, "Oh, no reason" but she knows he's just trying to make up for the move and it works. She loses herself in the keys and coding for hours at a time and it only makes it harder for her to make friends.

She's sixteen and trying to figure out what she wants to do with her life. She thinks about programming and maths and innovation, imagines inventing something new and extraordinary and having her name written down forever. Never once does she think of sonic devices and aliens and men who can't die. Never once does she think of Torchwood.


	22. Empty

**Spoilers for New Who 1x10 "The Doctor Dances", PG/K+. Prompt is "Monsters: ****Torchwood(/Doctor Who), Jack, The empty child still haunts him sometimes"**

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On those few nights when he pretends to sleep, just for the normalcy of it all, he lies in his cot and thinks about what he's seen, what he's done. Through it all, probably the thing that's stuck with him the most is the Empty Child. The flat voice, the 1940s-style gas masks, the way he sounded so pitiful, so helpless, so that even a conman wanted to hug him and pick him up and take him back to his mother. Jamie found Nancy eventually, but sometimes in the dark he can still hear a little boy crying for his mother on the draft breezing through the empty Hub.


	23. Holier Than Thou

**Spoilers for Torchwood 1x08 "They Keep Killing Suzie", PG-13/T for language. Prompt is "Torchwood, Any, holier than thou"**

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She hates the way they look at her.

This is why she wanted to leave, Suzie thinks, staring at Jack through hooded eyes. They don't want her. Never did.

_He's looking at you like that because you shot him through the forehead,_ a nasty little voice at the back of her mind whispers.

But he didn't die, she retorts, adjusting the hood over her wounds. I did.

The first sign of insanity is talking to yourself, she remembers hearing once, and she would laugh if she wasn't back at fucking _Torchwood_. Back at Torchwood with Jack and his holier than thou attitude. With Owen and his snark. Toshiko and her technology. Ianto and his cleanliness. And Gwen with that fucking gap between her teeth (Owen never could resist a girl with a gap between her teeth) and how could she be replaced with a little girl like that?

_Fuck Torchwood. Fuck them all._


	24. Leather

**No spoilers, G/K. Prompt is "Fashion Choices: ****Doctor Who, 9, picking the outfit"**

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This was always the best part of a new regeneration, the Doctor decided, riffling through the racks and racks of untouched clothes from ninth century China and thirtieth century Texas and fifty-second century Colony XXI in the Charter System. He'd done the grandfatherly look, he'd done the nutty look (more than once), he'd done the Victorian and he'd done the cricket-and-celery. He needed something new. Something modern, although modern was relative.

Glancing through the next few racks, he realized that nearly everything he owned was either patterned, brightly colored, designed for alien physiology, or some combination thereof. This was a problem.

It took him ages (_ages_) to find something bland. A leather jacket and a jumper, well, that wasn't bad. Leather it would be, at least until he found something better. (What he found instead was Rose.)


	25. Inconspicuousness is Not His Strong Suit

**No spoilers, G/K. Prompt is "Fashion Choices: ****Any fandom with non-natives to Earth/this dimension/whatever; any non-natives to Earth/this dimension/whatever; Trying to adopt proper, inconspicuous dress. And failing."**

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Honestly, it's not that he enjoys having such an (apparently) atrocious fashion sense. It's just that Time Lord fashion is different than Earth fashion and he's just trying to learn to balance the two. Really.

Also, Earth fashion is ridiculous. Changing every few months, different styles based on season, social standing, atmosphere, location, time . . . He much prefers the Gallifreyan "one outfit fits all" view of clothes and while he does try to vary his attire a bit from time to time it's mostly the same throughout a regeneration.

And maybe (just maybe) he enjoys the odd looks he gets for it. And yeah, the teasing. Maybe. Just a little.


	26. Liar

**Spoilers for CoE, PG/K+. Prompt is "Movies: ****Doctor Who/Torchwood, author's choice, Everybody's Fine"**

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Jack sat and fiddled with his hot-cup.

"Oh, sugar packets, I love sugar packets!"

Jack looked up in surprise as a young man with a thick mop of brown hair, tweed, and a bow tie sat down across from him and grabbed a handful of the little white packets from where they were piled in front of him.

"Doctor."

"Oh, so you recognize me, then! Brilliant! Have you met me yet? This me, future-me?"

"No." Jack shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. It was too bitter and too strong and it hurt on the way down.

"You're very quiet. And what are you doing in Australia? There isn't a rift around for miles."

"Just on vacation," Jack lied.

"Oh, all right. Do Torchwood agents get vacations? I suppose they do. How is Torchwood? Gwyneth - no, sorry, Gwen - and what's his name, Yon-something?"

"Ianto."

"Yes, yes, him."

He took another gulp of coffee. "He's fine. She's fine. Everybody's fine." _Liar, liar, pants on fire._


	27. Remember

**Minor spoilers for New Who s3 finale, PG/K+. Prompt is "Memories: ****Doctor Who/Torchwood, Face of Boe, He can't ever remember he was ever human."**

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He hardly remembers his time as a human. It lasted so long, and it's been so long, and the people he's known all mash together in his (admittedly quite large) head until he can hardly tell which name goes to which face or which death goes to which name. Was it Alice or Suzie who used the Resurrection Gauntlet, was it Jonathan or Marcus who had blonde hair? The Doctor and Rose are a vague haze somewhere in the back of his mind and he can't remember the name of the Doctor's ship at all.

He doesn't remember how to walk, doesn't remember how to use his mouth to eat or speak or do anything else he ever used his mouth for. He hasn't moved in so long and he doesn't even remember how he went from human to this. He doesn't remember his childhood, only a vague recollection of sand and khaki, and he knows he had a family but he can't remember their names. He's had many families over the years but they're all gone now, faded into the haze like everyone else. None of his children ever inherited his longevity and maybe that's a good thing. He doesn't want to submit anyone else to this.

He wants to get out of the glass. He wants legs and arms and hands and a mouth that moves. The only problem is, he doesn't even remember what those are anymore, and as he fades he knows he never will.


	28. Stop the Wedding

**Spoilers for Torchwood 2x09 "Something Borrowed", G/K. Prompt is "Torchwood, Jack/Gwen, Stop the Wedding"**

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He's always wanted an excuse to burst in just as the preacher says to "speak now or forever hold your peace" and yell "Stop the wedding!" Now he has one and he can't even admit to himself that maybe (just maybe) he enjoyed it a little more than he should have.


End file.
